


Adventures, Ep 1 - Redemption

by Soledad



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Family background, Gen, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 05:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13991793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soledad/pseuds/Soledad
Summary: This is a sequel to my story “Ambitions” and shows Kavanagh’s daily work at SGC, during seasons 6 and 7. Basically, this will be a loosely connected series of episode rewrites from Kavanagh's POV, with the one or other original episode inserted. Contains currently one episode in 3 parts.





	1. Episode 1- Redemption, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **INTRODUCTION**
> 
> This is a sequel to “Ambitions”, which basically showed how Kavanagh got to work for the SGC and how he settled in Colorado Springs. Although some basic facts will be mentioned here again, I suggest you read “Ambitions” first, as a lot of background stuff would be hard to understand otherwise.
> 
> I know that since “Midway” Kavanagh’s first name is supposed to be Peter. I don’t care. If the PTB couldn’t be bothered to give him a first name for three years and a half, they shouldn’t complain that I’ve long settled for a different one. I’ve written Kavanagh as Calvin for all those years, I’ve created his entire background inspired by that name – I’m not going to change it. Besides, for me “Peter” is and will always be Grodin in the Atlantis universe.
> 
> Kavanagh supposedly got hired by the SGC during the summer break between seasons 5 and 6 of Stargate SG-1, right after having supposedly defended his second thesis and got his second PhD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always found it a little unlikely that Jonas Quinn alone would have discovered the instability of the _naquadria_. He wasn’t even a scientist, for God’s sake! So I chose to make said discovery a little more believable.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
**EPISODE 01 – REDEMPTION, Part 1**

Somewhen during the last two – no, almost three – months Dr. Calvin Thomas Kavanagh had come to the realization that he liked life in Colorado Springs a lot. Sure, working under the Cheyenne Mountain was like life in a high-tech bunker from some really cheesy sci-fi movie, and the fact that he couldn’t tell about his real work anyone sucked. In exchange, however, he got a paycheck he couldn’t have even dreamed of anywhere else, had a nice house for his patchwork family to live in, and the work itself was exciting and inspiring. 

He liked working with Dr. Petersen and Dr. Loewen. Their fields were close enough, and Petersen had a warped, sarcastic sense of humour that matched Calvin’s own very well. They also shared a deep dislike for a certain Rodney McKay, and that was an unbreakable bond among all scientists that had ever been exposed to the Canadian’s ego. Even Chloe Loewen agreed with them. Being a blonde, she’d been the suffering object of McKay’s chauvinistic jokes about dumb blondes too often to not take offence. 

Actually, Calvin and Chloe shared more than work and their hatred for McKay. Chloe was Swedish, and like all Scandinavians, she had a much more… relaxed attitude towards casual sex. She knew what she wanted, and having an actual relationship wasn’t one of those things. Her work was more important for her, at least for the time being. But from time to time, she had an itch that needed to be scratched, and Calvin was more than willing to do her the favour. He had his own itches, considering that he’d been alone since his divorce, and the arrangement worked well enough for both of them. 

Sure, he did feel lonely sometimes (at the rare occasion when he had the time to think about such things). He missed the true intimacy that casual sex could never give: the small things one only shared in an established relationship. Like waking up next to someone who was actually important for him as a _person_. Or to do small domestic task together. Or just sit in companionable silence and relax in the presence of a person who would _care_. 

But one couldn’t have everything, and all things considered, he was fairly content with his life. Besides, this was not the right time to start pursuing a new relationship. His children had just begun to get used to their new surroundings and were about to get over their clinging phase. He could not risk their fragile emotional stability. Not now, not for a while yet, it seemed. So, the casual on/off thing with Chloe was the best solution for the moment. At least it offered them both a good outlet for their pent-up sexual frustration, without any strings attached. It was an honest and satisfying arrangement – for now. 

The family had taken the move across the country well enough. Now that she wasn’t forced to labour in the K-Mart long hours for a miserable paycheck, Siobhan had practically come to a late bloom. Sure, she was still painfully thin and would probably remain that way – all Kavanaghs tended to slim builds – but the thin lines of concern that had been etched into her face or so long were slowly fading away, and she smiled a lot more than before, which made her look as pretty as she used to be as a young girl. She enjoyed her new life as a housewife very much, and she had become good friends with Colonel Dixon’s overworked little wife, Glenda, in no time. 

That fact made Calvin particularly glad. With Patrick finally having found a job as a construction worker and himself working long hours in the lab, Siobhan would have grown lonely, all on her own, while the kids were at school. And Mrs Dixon wasn’t only a mother of four, she also had a degree in education and could be very helpful when Siobhan ran into problems with Liam or Tommy. The three sons of the Dixons, aged between seven and thirteen, accepted Liam without much ado, while Una Leonie, their golden little princess of five, seemed to have taken a liking to Tommy, who apparently returned the feeling with the same ardour. 

The adjustment to the new school had been a little bumpy at first, despite the truly idyllic surroundings. Canon Elementary had been built on a former wildlife refugee site and had playgrounds near the Cheyenne Creek, so that the children could see birds and squirrels while playing. Asking for the advice of Dr. Janet Fraiser, Calvin had chosen this particular school for his kids because it offered support courses for the gifted as well as special education for those who needed extra help. He didn’t want to take his sons to different schools. They both needed the reassurance of the other’s presence, after all the sudden changes in their lives. 

After a thorough discussion with Ms Struble, the school principal, Calvin had decided to enrol Liam into the second grade class, only one year above his actual age, so that he’d be with kids who weren’t years older than him – or twice his size. To keep his boy’s overactive mind occupied, Calvin had also enrolled him into science and computer courses for young children, and as Liam didn’t show any interest for sports, being a small, fragile child for his almost seven years, he was allowed to take an extra art class. 

After the first minor conflicts (more with the other kids than with the teachers, fortunately) even Liam, who’d had serious problems with female persons of authority, ever since his mother had kidnapped him, calmed down and began to develop a tentative trust toward his male class teacher, Sean Rhames. At Canon Elementary, all classes had two teachers, and while Calvin personally found Liam’s other teacher, Ms Burkhardt, a very likeable lady, he was glad that the boy had a male authority person at hand. Due to his traumatic experiences, Liam found it much easier to trust men. Later on, that might bring up new problems, but right now, the presence of a male teacher helped things considerably. 

As for Tommy, he seemed to have fallen instantly in love with one of his kindergarten teachers. Ms McCormack was a quirky little redhead in her mid-thirties, small of stature but great of heart; an always delighted person who could tell the most exciting stories off the top of her head and knew the funniest games. Calvin learned later that she was also a well known author of children’s books who chose to work with children instead just write for them. 

So, the kids were well off, Siobhan was happy, and with Patrick having a job again and Calvin himself getting the handsome paycheck for the third time already, the Kavanagh clan settled well enough in Colorado Springs. For the first time in their lives, they had no serious financial problems, and even though the long-overdue new car would still have to wait at least half a year (or longer), they began to breathe easier. 

Of course, Murphy’s Law chose that very moment to come to full effect again. 

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Theoretically, it would have been Calvin’s second day off. He’d been moonlighting a great deal during the last two weeks, working on a solution that would eventually replace _naquadria_ with liquid _naquadah_ in the propulsion system of the X-302, the first human-made ship that was capable of interstellar travel – or so its creators hoped The ship had just recently been completed in Area 51, and was nearly ready for test flights. Nobody could foretell whether its systems would truly work. They had been developed by retro-engineering Goa’uld technology but not yet been tested under real conditions. 

For his part, Calvin had serious doubts about the _naquadria_ ’s usefulness. The dratted element was just too unstable for his comfort. Willem Petersen shared his doubts, which was why they worked so hard with the liquid naquadah, and so did several other engineers But the military wanted results – preferably yesterday – and people like Dr. Larry Murphy were stupid (or irresponsible) enough to press forward and to promise quick results, regardless of the possible consequences. 

Having finished the next series of tests with liquid _naquadah_ – tests that yielded satisfactory results – project leader Dr. Bill Lee had ordered both Petersen and Calvin to take two days free, as an exchange for all the late hours they’d spent in the lab. Calvin welcomed the order as Liam’s birthday happened to be on his first day off. They had a surprise party in the afternoon, with all the Dixon kids and Dr. Fraiser’s teenaged daughter visiting, a barbecue in the garden, a big cake for the birthday id and lots of fun. Jonas Quinn had cooked up for some Kelownan speciality, which turned out surprisingly good, Smithy came to help fastening the brand new basketball ring on the side of the house, and even Colonel O’Neill dropped in for a short visit, gifting a basketball glove upon Liam, who’d never use it but was happy with it nonetheless. 

Right after coming to Colorado Springs, Calvin had been surprised by Colonel O’Neill’s interest in his family. Granted, they were almost neighbours, but the colonel wasn’t generally known as getting all friendly with the civilians (unlike Dixon), and Calvin didn’t even work under his command. It had been a month or so later that Calvin learned from Dr. Fraiser how tragically O’Neill had lost his own son, and that the Kavanagh kids, being all blue-eyed blonds, perhaps reminded him of Charlie. Whatever the reason might be, the boys soon became very fond of ‘Colonel Jack’, as Liam called him, despite his futile attempts to make them interested in sports. 

The birthday party lasted really late in the night, so Calvin decided to excuse his sons from school on the net day and let them sleep in as long as they wanted. The Reverend would never have condoned such blatant violation of one’s duties, even if the person of question was barely seven. But although Calvin took duty – and especially the education of his kids – very seriously, he didn’t see things quite so narrowly as his father. 

“I thought we could go to the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo in the afternoon,” he said to Siobhan over their first cp of coffee in the kitchen. “We haven’t seen much of Colorado Springs since we moved here, and both kids are interested in animals. We can download the zoo map from the Internet and print out a copy for everyone. We could have lunch in the Safari Café there, and pick up Patrick from the construction site afterwards and come home together.” 

Siobhan gave the huge pile of dirty dishes from the pervious night a disheartened look. “I’d love to, but…” 

“I’ll help you wash the dishes,” Calvin offered. “In any case, we should buy a dishwasher, soon.” 

“That’s not necessary,” Siobhan replied. “We don’t always have so many dirty dishes. Besides, you need a new car before the Chevy falls to pieces under you.” 

“I like the Chevy,” Calvin said stubbornly. “And a new car is more than what we could afford right now. We can afford the dishwasher, though.” 

“Not if you ever want a new car,” his sister answered, and they both laughed. 

In that very moment, the phone rung. Calvin picked it up, expecting the worst. “Kavanagh.” 

“Siler,” the voice of the somewhat accident-prone technical sergeant of the SGC answered. “You’re needed in the Mountain, sir. ASAP.” 

“Actually,” Calvin said, “I have the day off.” 

“I’m sorry, sir,” Siler answered, “but this is a Code Red alert. All personnel of the engineering department are being called in.” 

“I see,” Calvin said, suddenly eerily calm. Code Red was bad, very bad. “I’ll need a lift, then. My family uses the car in the afternoon.” 

“That won’t be a problem sir,” Siler replied. “Colonel O’Neil has offered to pick you up on his way in.” 

“O’Neill?” Calvin frowned. “But he’s got a partially torn ligament in his knee… could barely limp around yesterday.” 

“He declared that he didn’t have the time for ‘such nonsense’, and that a bandage would do the trick. You can expect him in twenty,” and with that, Siler hung up. 

Siobhan watched her brother with concerned eyes. “You need to go back to the Mountain?” 

Calvin nodded worriedly. “It seems then can’t go on for two days in a row without me. Liam will be very disappointed.” 

“I can tell him,” Siobhan offered, but Calvin shook his head. 

“No, I’ll do it. He always accepts unpleasant news easier when they come from me.” 

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Liam was indeed very unhappy about the loss of family time but, precocious child as he was, he understood that his Papa sometimes just _had_ to go back to work. Besides, he was happy to see ‘Colonel Jack’ again, and so soon. The sympathy between them was mutual. 

“I’m sorry I have to take your Papa with me,” like everyone else, O’Neill had also learned quickly not to refer to the Kavanagh kids’ father as their Dad. For reasons only the family knew, they didn’t like it. “But the other scientists in the lab need his help.” 

The boy looked up to him with too-serious cornflower-blue eyes, and Calvin’s heart contorted for a moment, wishing that his son could be as careless as other children of his age, even though he knew that would never happen. Never again. Lost innocence could never be regained. 

In such moments he could have cheerfully murdered his ex-wife. 

“I know,” Liam replied to O’Neill earnestly. “Papa is very, very good. Dr. Lou said he’s even better than Dr. Willem.” 

“Well, if he says so, it must be true,” O’Neill said, easily recognizing behind the nicknames Balinsky from SG-13 and Petersen, with whom the boy’s father shared a lab. 

“How long must Papa be gone?” Liam asked anxiously. 

“Honestly, I can’t tell,” O’Neill replied. “But I promise to bring him back as soon as possible. You know I always keep my promises, right?” 

Liam nodded. “Because of Charlie,” he said. 

“Because of Charlie,” O’Neill agreed. “Now, we must hurry up, and you enjoy your day off, okay?” 

“Okay,” Liam said agreeably, although his face was pinched when his father and the colonel climbed into the latter’s car. 

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
O’Neill waved Calvin to the driver’s seat. 

“I _can_ drive if I have to,” he explained, “but the knee would thank you if I didn’t have to.” 

“So… what happened?” Calvin asked, trying not to show how much he enjoyed the smooth running of the colonel’s car. Sure, he loved the geriatric Chevy, but there was something to say for a new and fast car. 

“We have an incoming wormhole with no way to shut it down,” O’Neill summarized the problem for him with the endearing simplicity of the military mind. 

Calvin shrugged. “Wait thirty-eight minutes, it will shut down on its own.” 

“That was what _we_ thought,” O’Neill replied. “That was six hours ago.” 

“Oh!” Calvin had to force himself to keep his hands steady on the steering wheel. “That’s… unsettling. Is something coming through?” 

“According to Carter… nothing.” 

“Not even a radio signal?” Calvin insisted. 

O’Neill shook his head. “Nope.” 

“And the wormhole hasn’t collapsed after the usual thirty-eight minutes?” Calvin asked bewildered. 

“No, it’s still open,” O’Neill replied. 

“Could the guy on the other end of the connection redial our Gate repeatedly, just to keep us from using it?” Calvin thought loud, turning into the parking lot of the Mountain. 

“Carter says she’s programmed the computer to dial the Alpha site right when the incoming wormhole expires; only that it simply hasn’t expired so far.” 

“Okay, that _is_ a problem,” Calvin agreed, as they walked towards the elevator. “But I don’t really understand what would you need _me_ for. I’m not exactly an expert where the Stargate s considered.” 

O’Neill shrugged. “Don’t look at me. It was Carter’s idea.” 

Calvin found that flattering, but he wouldn’t show it, of course. They rode both elevators to Sublevel 28, where they found a somewhat irritated Major Carter in the Control Room, working at the terminals of the Stargate, with the help of that too-pretty Air Force lieutenant, Graham Simmons, who had a puppy-sized crash on her. At least according to medical personnel, and they were the best source of gossip under the Mountain. Perhaps it was the way to balance out the fact that they weren’t allowed to speak about so many things, due to doctor-patient confidentiality. 

“Major,” Simmons was saying, right when they entered the room, “there’s a rise in power being retained b the Gate’s internal capacitors.” 

“How much?” Carter asked, without taking her eyes from her own control screen. 

Simmons re-checked his readings. “One per cent.” 

“Could it be the usual fluctuations?” Calvin asked. He’d studied the powering system of the Stargate for comparative uses and become fairly familiar with the working of the Gate… on the regular level anyway. 

“Dr. Kavanagh could be right,” Carter said, after a short nod and a ‘sir’ to greet O’Neill. “While there’s an open wormhole, the value does tend to fluctuate by at least that much.” 

Lt. Simmons shook his head, eyes firmly set on the readings. “Not for the last twelve minutes, it hasn’t.” 

Carter frowned. “That’s strange. Dr. Kavanagh, could you help us at Gate diagnostic screen four?” 

“Sure,” Calvin felt a strange excitement, sitting there at the Gate controls – something he’d never done before. Which didn’t mean that he wouldn’t know what to do. He checked the diagnostics carefully. “Everything seems normal,” he reported. “No incoming energy readings.” 

“Hmmm,” Carter thought for the moment, then she looked at Simmons. “We need to increase sensitivity.” 

Simmons nodded. “Fifty per cent should do it.” 

They both walked over to watch the diagnostic screen over Calvin’s shoulder. After Calvin had increased the sensitivity, a few blips appeared on the computer graphics. Carter frowned. 

“Now that’s odd,” she commented. 

Simmons shrugged. “Could it be interference between the Stargate and the computer?” he asked. 

“It could,” Carter admitted. “But I still don’t like it. The fact that it keeps the Gate open makes me worry. That shouldn’t be possible… theoretically.” 

“Unless someone has found a way to power up the gate on their side high enough,” Calvin commented. “Just because _we_ can’t do it, it doesn’t mean than nobody _else_ could. Especially someone with a technology light years beyond our understanding. See? There it is again.” 

Carter nodded. “Right. Increase sensitivity by two hundred per cent.” 

“Major, that’s well within the accepted margin of error for the sensors,” Simmons argued, wanting to impress his idol very much. Calvin withstood the urge to roll his eyes… barely. 

“Not if it has anything to do with keeping the Gate open for unlimited times,” he replied, executing Carter’s order immediately. A whole pattern of blips appeared on the computer graphics. 

“See?” Simmons said. “It’s a pretty small anomaly…” 

“…which could be contributing to the power build-up in the Gate,” Calvin interrupted, getting truly impatient with the little fool. 

Said little fool wasn’t willing to give up so easily, though, especially not with Carter listening. “Yes, but…” 

Carter cut him short. “Errors are random, Lieutenant,” she pointed out evenly. “Whatever _this_ is, it has a distinct pattern.” 

Simmons nodded reluctantly. “Right…” 

Carter thought for a moment. Calvin could almost see the little wheels spinning in her head. 

“General Hammond needs to learn about this,” she finally decided, “but we should calculate the possible risks first, to give him a rough estimate of the danger it might mean. Dr. Kavanagh, Dr. Simpson and Dr. Petersen are waiting for you in your lab, and Dr. Loewen is on her way already. Can you take over the calculations while the Lieutenant and I will try to work on possible countermeasures?” 

“Sure,” Calvin said and left for the lab. 

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Simpson and Petersen were already working on the problem when he arrived. He hadn’t seen Simpson since their arrival at the SGC, as she had been away a lot with Colonel Edwards’ team; and besides, they were assigned to different projects. He was glad that she was here right now, though. She was brilliant and very level-headed, plus she had a keen, analytic mind, even though the stupid military thinking that it’s acceptable to risk the lives of the many in order to save _one_ person in need was fairly indoctrinated in that otherwise smart head of hers. But that was to be expected. She _was_ an Army brat, after all. 

“So, what’s with the energy build-up within the Gate?” Calvin asked as a way of greeting when he joined them. 

“It seems to be transmitted through the incoming wormhole,” Petersen replied. “It’s slow, but the cumulative effect makes me a bit concerned.” 

“Why didn’t we notice it earlier?” Simpson asked. “The Gate has been open for what? Six hours?” 

“Six hours twenty-seven minutes,” Petersen replied in a distracted manner. “You forget that our sensors aren’t calibrated to measure something so small.” 

“Which might prove to be a fatal mistake,” Calvin added grimly. “Is the iris still holding?” 

Petersen glanced at one of the screens that was connected to the Control Room. “It seems so. It’s probably even slowing the energy transfer down, but it won’t stop it. Just like at the time when Sokar tried to extract Apophis from us.” 

“That’s bad,” Calvin said. 

Simpson nodded. “Yeah, it is. The Gate can absorb huge amounts of energy – like some sort of giant superconductor – but even its capacity will be exceeded eventually, and if the _naquadah_ of which it’s made up becomes charged…” 

“…it will explode,” Calvin finished. 

“That about sums it up,” Petersen agreed. “By the current rate of energy build-up we can count on the big bang in a couple of days… if we’re _very_ lucky.” 

“And we are talking about a blast… how strong exactly?” Simpson eyed the calculations again. 

“Two or three thousand megatons,” Calvin said. “That would be enough to take out Colorado.” He made a mental note to call Patrick in the first unobserved moment and tell him to get their family the hell out of the state. To visit Dion in LA. Or even the Reverend, if there’s no other way. Whatever. He wasn’t certain that the military would allow him to get his family to safety if he asked first. They were all big on secrets and such. But he was _not_ risking the lives of Siobhan and the boys. If they wanted to shoot him afterwards, it was fine with him. 

Assuming that there _would_ be an afterwards, which seemed rather unlikely at the moment. 

Petersen was already calling Major Carter to tell her the bad news. This was going to be a long shift. 

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Needless to say that General Hammond was not happy to hear about this new disaster coming their way. He’d had enough with Colonel Chekov breathing down his neck anyway, the Russians insisting on having one of their officers assigned to SG-1 ‘as a symbol of their joint efforts’. Colonel O’Neill had stubbornly resisted so far, but considering that nine candidates had already failed to replace Dr. Jackson – and tat he’d not even consider Jonas Quinn as a suitable candidate – he was running out of options. 

In a way, the general was almost grateful for the disaster, as it allowed him to ignore the Russian demands for a while and focus on a problem that actually counted. Unfortunately, it was also a problem that could kill them all. 

In the meantime, the energy build-up has reached eighteen per cent, and every attempt to drain the capacitors had failed. Cutting the power to the Gate wouldn’t have done any good, since incoming wormholes drew their energy from the off-world source, and whoever was on the other end of this particular connection, they seemed to have an unlimited energy source at their disposal. They couldn’t use the Russian Gate either, to evacuate to the Alpha site, because one couldn’t dial out of another Gate when there was already an established incoming wormhole to Earth, as Sergeant Siler had pointed out to one of the newbie technicians. 

The situation was fairly hopeless, and Calvin hadn’t got the chance to call his family and persuade them to flee back to California, because General Hammond had ordered full ‘radio silence’, as he called it. Which meant that no phone calls were allowed to go out, and all lines save the ones to Area 51 and to the President were blocked. 

That order made Calvin quite mad. He didn’t buy the excuse of having a full-blown panic on their hands, would SGC families suddenly leave town. Firstly, not so many of the SGC employees had families to begin with… or had them in Colorado Springs. Secondly, they were _civilians_. None of them had sworn an oath to die alongside the military, should something ugly happen. And thirdly, he simply didn’t care. He’d accepted that he might die when things went wrong, but the deaths of his sister and his boys had _not_ been part of the agreement. 

Yet there was nothing he could do, and further calculations came up with the depressing results that Colorado wouldn’t be the only place to be destroyed if the Stargate exploded. In fact, they were about to face a planetwide disaster; it seemed there would be no safe place on Earth to go. 

And as if that fact alone wouldn’t have been enough to ruin everybody’s day, in the middle of the feverish search for a solution – _any_ solution! – Rodney McKay strolled into the Control Room, making one of his stupid, sexist remarks. 

Calvin, who’d come up from the lab to consult Sergeant Siler about a potential method to drain the capacitors – a vague idea Chloe Loewen had presented – groaned in unison with Carter at the sight. The major glared at McKay with all the love one would display towards a poisonous beetle. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” she asked. 

McKay gave her a smile that, coming from him, counted as positively disarming. “Well, there’s no point in building _naquadah_ generators for Russia if there isn’t going to be a Russia, is there?” he answered nonchalantly. “The Pentagon thought you… uh… might need some help.” 

If possible, Carter’s eyes turned even colder; glacial would have been the right description. “Not from _you_ , she declared coldly. 

McKay shrugged. “Oh, all right. Well, then, I’ll get a coffee and a doughnut and just sit there, waiting for the big bang. I’m sure it will be spectacular.” With that, he sauntered out. 

“Just what we needed,” Calvin said to Siler, and the Sergeant nodded in grave agreement. 

“My thoughts exactly, Doctor.” 

At the same moment, Chief Master Sergeant Harriman handed Carter a headset. “Major… Dr. Murphy for you.” 

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
“So, what did that idiot Murphy want from Major Carter?” Petersen, not exactly a fan of Area 51’s head scientist, asked dubiously. The team was having a coffee break in the kitchenette of the lab, and they had invited Jonas Quinn, who, not having any particular task assigned to him, was known to learn just about everything that was going in under the Mountain in record time. 

He told the major that he could have the X-302 ready in two hours,” Jonas replied, “so that someone might leave Earth and get some help from the Asgard.” 

“I thought it was weeks away from flight test,” Calvin said with a frown. 

Jonas nodded. “That was what Dr. Murphy had said when we visited Area 51 a few days ago. But all preliminary indications seem to look good, and it’s the only chance to contact the Asgard and ask for help. Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter have volunteered for the mission – they may be on their way to Area 51 already.” 

Calvin exchanged a look with Petersen, then with Chloe, and all three shook their heads in unison. 

“It’s not going to work,” Petersen stated. 

Jonas gave him a concerned look. “You think so?” 

“He’s right,” Calvin said. “The instability of the _naquadria_ increases exponentially as you attempt to extract more energy out of it.” 

“Are you sure?” Jonas asked. "I’ve studied all the Goa’uld research done on _naquadria_ , and Major Carter allowed me to see the specifications on the X-302 – there was no true reason for concern.” 

“Let me show you,” Chloe took the notebook from him and eyed it quickly. Then she fished a text marker out of the breast pocket of her lab coat and highlighted some of the complicated equations. “I know you’re no scientist, but since you’re familiar with the research material, you won’t need anything else but a little common sense.” 

Jonas scanned the equations quickly – and blanched. “We must show this General Hammond,” he said. 

Calvin pulled a face. “We’ve been trying to do _that_ for months. But apparently, military mindset and common sense don’t go along very well.” 

“But we _must_ do something!” Jonas insisted. 

Chloe shrugged, which did amazing things to certain parts of her anatomy. “We could try to hush McKay at the general.” 

“And that would help us how exactly?” Petersen asked sarcastically. “He’s not even a member of the SGC.” 

“But he’s annoying enough to be listened to, no matter what,” Chloe pointed out. 

“True,” Peterson said after a moment of consideration. “But how on Earth can we talk him into helping us. He knows we despise him, and frankly, the feeling is mutual.” 

“He doesn’t know Jonas,” Chloe suggested. “He might listen to Jonas’ arguments, because Jonas is the one who’s brought us the _naquadria_ in the first place.” 

Calvin and Petersen looked at each other a bit uncertainly; then the Danish scientist shrugged. 

“It’s worth a try… The best thing would be to get both McKay and the general to listen to your arguments, but I guess we could call ourselves lucky if we get the ear of _one_ of them.” 

“How am I supposed to do this?” Jonas asked. 

“Just go straight to either McKay or the general and tell them,” Petersen said. “Neither of them has a clue about subtlety.” 

“Right,” Jonas murmured, clearly having doubts about the whole thing. “Just jump down their throats with the bad news. That will work like a charm.” 

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Twenty minutes later Jonas returned to the lab. A look at his face spoke clearly about the outcome of his mission. 

“They didn’t listen,” Calvin said. It was not a question. Nor was it a surprise, to be honest. 

“They didn’t,” Jonas answered with a sigh. “That is, Dr. McKay did, he even agreed with you – but the general told us that the X-302 is our only chance to get help from the outside, so we should all shut up and cross our fingers… do your people really do that for luck?” 

“Typical,” Calvin said sourly, ignoring Jonas’ last question. “Why think when you can act?” 

“Well, thinking hasn’t gotten us any further, so far,” Simpson countered, feeling that she ought to defend the military, out of family obligation. Let’s hope that we’re wrong and have been worrying for nothing.” 

“We’re _not_ wrong,” Petersen said, emphasizing the negation. 

“The simulations Major Carter and Dr. Murphy ran anticipated every conceivable scenario,” Simpson, who’d a much better opinion about the Area 51 scientist (they’d worked together for two years, after all) argued. 

“That depends on what they’ve considered conceivable,” Calvin retorted. “What if we’ve found one they had _not_ thought of at all?” 

Simpson shook her head. “The X-302 has hundreds of safety mechanisms to compensate for anything that can go wrong. It’s the finest piece of human engineering that…” 

Calvin interrupted her. “You’re missing the point, Simpson. I’ve studied the schematics since I got here. There’s nothing wrong with the _structure_ of the X-302. It’s the propulsion system that is faulty. If it’s capable of opening a hyperspace window to begin with, it’s highly unlikely that it will be able to lock on its destination.” 

“And that would happen, in your expert opinion, why exactly?” Simpson demanded. 

“I don’t think that the energy fluctuations emitted by the _naquadria_ would allow establishing a stable hyperspace window,” Calvin replied. 

“They won’t,” Jonas said quietly. 

**“And why haven’t you come up with this before?” Simpson asked accusingly.**

“We have,” Petersen replied, “but Major Carter thought they could compensate for the fluctuations.” 

“Which, if the latest technical data are correct, they could not,” Chloe Loewen added. 

“So, what are we going to do now?” Jonas asked. “Cross our fingers as the general suggested and hope for the best?” 

“No,” Petersen said. “ _You_ ’ll go back to the Control Room and wait for news about the X-302. _We_ ’ll keep trying to find a way to drain the Gate capacitors and get the military more time to find another way to contact the Asgard.” 

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
A depressingly short time later it turned out that they had been right about the X-302. Although its hyperspace generator had been able to open a window, but once it was established, master alarms had gone off at once, and the vessel, unable to lock on its destination, auto-aborted. It was one of the built-in safety measures, and it had saved the lives of Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter, who’d have probably been torn to peaces otherwise – or, as Dr. McKay had suggested, transported to an unknown location with limited fuel, oxygen and no way of getting back – but that still left them with no way to get any help from the outside. 

“Can this problem be resolved?” General Hammond asked on the briefing, to which, in a sudden attack of insight – or despair – he’d invited all the scientists currently working on the problem. 

Carter shrugged uncertainly. “Sir, we don’t even understand why the problem exists, yet.” 

“You’re lucky,” McKay commented. “There’s no telling how much damage an unstable hyperspace window could have caused.” 

Carter smiled at him in a way that made Calvin shiver… and _not_ with pleasure. He couldn’t blame her, though. The urge to throttle McKay was rising steadily in him, too. 

General Hammond ignored the little display between the scientists. “So, the bottom line is, we’re on our own,” he summarized glumly. 

Carter nodded. “Afraid so, sir.” 

As if emphasizing her words, the briefing room suddenly darkened, and alarms started going off. Hammond pushed the intercom button. 

“Report!” he demanded. 

“We’re experiencing a wide-spread loss of power, sir,” the voice of Chief Master Sergeant Harriman replied. “Switching to auxiliary power… now.” 

The lights returned, but the alarms kept sounding. Carter looked at her fellow scientists, and then she began to run to the Gate Room. The others, including Colonel O’Neill, followed. 


	2. Episode 1- Redemption, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, while I understand that the show needed to focus on the main characters primarily, I found it a little unlikely that everybody but Carter and McKay would have been an incompetent idiot. So I allowed some of the others to have useful thoughts, too, giving the lines of the nameless extra scientists to those who’ll appear later on either SG-1 or Atlantis.
> 
> For the record: Chloe, whom I gave the surname Dr. Loewen, appeared in the SG-1 episode Avenger 2, while Petersen, Simpson and, of course, Kavanagh are SGA characters.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **EPISODE 01 – REDEMPTION, Part 2**

They reached the Gate Room just in time to see the holographic image of a cloaked and hooded figure coming through the Stargate, not the least hindered by the closed iris. It would have looked ridiculous, in a cheesy supervillain way, like the Big Bad from some second-grade comic or B-movie – had it not been for his face.

Or to be more accurate, for the lack thereof. For the figure had no face at all. Under his hood, there was nothing but swirling darkness. At the sight of which Calvin Thomas Kavanagh, long-time agnostic and sceptical to the bone, he who’d belligerently rejected the Reverend’s preaching about everlasting darkness and damnation, for the first time in his life got a clue what pure evil might be like.

Of course, he knew that it was just a holographic projection. He was a scientist, and a damn good one. It was the holographic projection of some megalomaniac Goa’uld with a real fleur for the dramatic as McKay had put it. Very theatrical with all that “You will bow to my awesome power!’ and ‘Prepare to meet your doom!’ kind of stuff.

But there was no denying the sheer malevolence of his intentions… or the fact that by the rate the Stargate was building up energy, they only had fifty-four hours left, at best. Whoever this Anubis character was, he apparently had the means to make his threats true. McKay’s mocking didn’t change _that_ part of the equation a bit.

Calvin felt light-headed, suddenly remembering that he’d been called in without proper breakfast and hadn’t eaten a thing since coffee break, which was about four hours earlier. Hurriedly, he tore open the small package in his pocket and slipped two glucose pills into his mouth… then added another one for good measure. Fainting from the sudden drop of blood sugar levels would have been mortally embarrassing – especially in front of McKay, of all people.

His thoughts cleaning up due to the sugar infusion, he realized that Petersen was arguing with Carter about something.

“Remember, Major, when the Gate was connected to the black hole, through the other Gate on P3W-451, a shaped charge was used to disengage the wormhole. We could try the same method to…”

“No, we can’t,” Calvin interrupted, understanding what his colleague was talking about. “That was an outgoing wormhole, Willem.”

“True,” Petersen admitted, “but if we modify the…”

“No,” Calvin repeated, a little more forcefully, because Petersen was grasping at straws, and that was a dangerous attitude for a scientist during a crisis. “The blast would detonate the Gate.”

Carter and McKay, who’d become aware of the discussion, shook their heads in unison. Then, all of a sudden, McKay perked up. “Wait a minute…”

Petersen glared daggers at him. “I’m not talking to _you_ , McKay! If you’d just let me finish…”

McKay waved dismissively and walked over tot the observation window to look down at the Stargate.

“No, you’re both horribly wrong, both of you,” he said in a distracted manner. “But you gave me an idea.”

“Oh, blast,” Petersen commented, dripping with sarcasm. “I’m so honoured! I’m gonna tell my great-grandchildren about the glorious day when I managed to give the great Rodney McKay an idea by being wrong.”

Calvin couldn’t quite suppress a guffaw, and even Carter smiled to herself. McKay ignored them, as usual when his brain kicked to high gear. He was thinking aloud.

“We know that certain waves can travel in both directions through a wormhole, right?” he said. “Radio signals, for one.”

“So what?” Carter asked a little impatiently. “We call Anubis and ask him to stop?”

“Yeah, that would work,” Petersen commented. “Because Goa’uld - especially ones with unlimited energy sources - are so charming, understanding guys.”

McKay gave him an irritated look. “You’re so not helping!”

“And _you_ haven’t suggested anything potentially useful, so far,” Petersen countered. “Do you have an idea that might work or not?”

“As a matter of fact – yes, I do,” McKay replied. “We could send a massive EM pulse through the wormhole and knock out whatever power source this Goa’uld might have on the other end.”

General Hammond looked at Carter doubtfully. “Will that work?”

“No,” Petersen replied promptly in Carter’s stead.

“Perhaps,” Calvin and Simpson said in unison. Chloe shrugged noncommittally.

“Carter turned to her CO. “Sir, I already thought of it, and the reason I didn’t mention it is because it would be too problematic.”

“More so than the Gate exploding?” McKay inquired sarcastically. Hammond gave him a warning look.

“Problematic in what way?” he asked.

“The iris would have to be opened,” Petersen said.

“So what?” McKay asked impatiently. “The Gate Room is shielded, isn’t it?”

“Have you taken a look at the readings, McKay?” Petersen countered in exasperation. “Do you have any idea how long the shielding would be able to withstand the energy flow if we opened the iris?”

“Or how much EM would be required to knock the energy source out, whatever it is?” Carter added.

Hammond frowned. “So, are you saying that this absolutely couldn’t work?” he tried to clarify things.

“No, sir,” Carter replied, with visible effort to stay calm. “What I’m saying is that there are too many unknown factors to risk whatever protection we still have.”

“Great,” McKay commented with biting sarcasm. “So, let’s just all go home and wait for the inevitable.”

The glare Carter gave him would have made a platoon of Marines tremble with fear. It completely failed to impress McKay, though.

General Hammond looked from one scientist to another in very obvious frustration. Finally, the urge to _do_ something won over other considerations, and he turned to McKay. “How long will it take to set up?”

McKay thought for a moment. “Four hours, tops,” he finally answered; then, looking at Petersen’s team, he added. “That is, if these morons are willing to help me with the calculations. I’m a genius, but I’m not a computer, you know.”

“Four hours,” Hammond repeated. Then, looking at Carter, he added. “That is exactly how long you have to come up with something else, Major.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The next couple of hours were spent with feverish activity in the shared lab of doctors Petersen, Kavanagh and Loewen, with the assistance of Dr. Simpson. Carter and McKay were doing their own calculations, just to make sure they’d taken every possible aspect under consideration. There was no margin for even the slightest error left, so everyone was concentrating like never before in their lives.

Several gallons of coffee later, Calvin’s iron reserves of glucose pills were exhausted, the floor under McKay’s chair was littered with power bar package foils, and the results… well, the results were _not_ promising.

“Just what I feared,” Petersen sighed. “Opening the iris will increase the flow of energy to the Gate by at least ten times.”

“Ouch!” O’Neill, who’d walked in some ten minutes earlier to see how they were doing, muttered. “That’s… not good, I guess?”

“No, sir,” Carter replied grimly. “It’s not good at all.”

“It means, if McKay’s idea doesn’t work, we’ll be cutting as much as half the remaining time before the Gate detonates,” Calvin added.

“You don’t think this could work, either?” O’Neill asked.

Calvin shrugged. “Honestly? I can’t tell. I’m only pointing out the possible consequences in case it won’t.”

“Do you have any better ideas?” O’Neill asked.

“No,” Calvin replied. “Which is the reason why I’m helping him at all. As you know, I have personal reasons to oppose the levelling of Colorado.”

O’Neill nodded. “Do your best,” he said on his way out. “And hurry up!”

“Yeah,” Petersen told his back nastily. “Because we’ve been scratching our lazy asses here all the time.”

“Don’t start doing so now, then!” Simpson retorted, without looking up from her computer screen. “We’ve got a planet to save, in case you’ve forgotten.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Just a little over four hours after McKay had suggested the desperate plan, Technical Sergeant Siler and his people were placing the EM pulse generator on the ramp leading to the Stargate, measuring the correct distance with a tape measure and turning the fairly futuristic-looking device into the right position. Above them, the Control Room was becoming fairly crowded with not only the Gate technicians on duty present, but also the scientists who’d been working on the problem, and also the leaders of those SG-units that weren’t off-world at the time.

One of those few was Colonel Dave Dixon, to whose unit Calvin nominally belonged – although he hadn’t taken part on any off-world missions yet, and if things kept going as they were at the moment, he wouldn’t likely have the chance to do so, ever. A big, balding man in his late thirties, Dixon wasn’t easy to panic, as a rule. Right now, however, he looked slightly green around the gills.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” he murmured in a low voice only Calvin could hear. “Being stuck off-world, with no idea what’s gone wrong back home… or being stuck here, knowing that you can’t do a thing to save your family.”

Calvin nodded in mute understanding. As much as Dixon might complain sometimes about his chaotic home, he loved his kids very much; and as a soldier used to act, being totally helpless must have bothered him twice as much as it would bother a civilian.

“I’ve lent Balinsky to SG-15,” he continued. “Dr. Corrigan wanted to show him something on P7X… whatsoever. The remains of some Ancient city or whatnot. He begged to let him go, so I thought why not? He has an elderly mother who depends on him… now she’s gonna die alone, without the chance to see him one last time.”

Balinsky was SG-13’s resident archaeologist, with a good technical background, which was the reason why Calvin didn’t need to go off-world with the team on a regular basis. He was also a good-natured man, enthusiastic about his job, albeit leaning towards eccentric. If he got excited, his face became as flaming red as his hair, and his freckles were positively glowing. As little as they interacted during their daily work, Calvin had come to like him a lot and could understand Dixon’s grief. Plus, for a team as close-knit as SG-units usually were, it had to be even worse to lose a member.

“Do you think this is gonna work?” Dixon asked. The Colonel had a fairly good understanding of technology – he had a bachelor’s degree in aerospace engineering, after all – but this level of science was beyond his ability to comprehend.

“I’m not sure,” Calvin admitted. “There are too many unknown factors, as Major Carter has said. I _hope_ it will, though, because, frankly, we’re out of options otherwise.”

In the meantime, McKay and Carter had arrived in the Control Room, after having checked the EM pulse generator thoroughly. They seemed cautiously optimistic at best. Calvin tried to ignore the expression of doubt on Carter’s face.

“We’re ready, sir,” she told the general and took the empty seat next to Harriman.

Hammond looked at the Chief Master Sergeant. “Close the blast doors,” he ordered. 

Harriman nodded and carried out his order. The EM pulse generator turned on.

Hammond turned to Carter. “Open the iris.”

Carter did as she was told, using her handprint. Her eyes were firmly set on the control screens. “Energy transfer is increasing,” she reported. “Seven times greater… eight… ten times!”

“Sometimes I just _hate_ being right,” Petersen muttered darkly, somewhere in the background.

“Do it!” Hammond ordered Harriman.

“Activating electromagnetic pulse,” the Chief Master Sergeant replied promptly, throwing the switch.

Down in the Gate Room, the machine was whirling frantically. As the electromagnetic pulse increased, the monitors started to shut off in the Control Room. Soon they wouldn’t be able to watch what was going on at the Gate, unless…

Calvin moved closer to the outer edge of the blast door protecting the observation window, where he could at least see whether the Gate Room was still illuminated or already dark… if not much else.

“Energy transfer is increasing!” Carter reported before her monitor, too, went dark. “Sir, if this was going to work…”

Down there, in the Gate Room, some kind of lightning seemed to jump around, although Calvin could not determine its source, of course. He backed off in a hurry when the energy bolt travelled to the blast door of the Control room, cut through it effortlessly and flashed around everyone.

“That went well!” Petersen commented dryly, but his face was deathly pale, and he was sweating profoundly.

“Close the iris!” the general shouted.

Carter laid her palm on the handplate to do so, but got shocked, the wave throwing her back, together with her chair. McKay stared at her in unveiled terror. Calvin had heard them flirt, with a good deal of hostility infused into their teasing, but realized fort he first time that the eccentric Canadian might really be interested.

Well, it was apparently too late for _that_ – like for everything else, it seemed.

Harriman was typing furiously on his still-working computer – a small miracle within all that chaos – and the iris finally closed.

“We’re offline,” he reported in obvious relief.

Someone, perhaps Sergeant Siler, bent down to Carter, checking her pulse. After a moment, he nodded.

Hammond grabbed the phone. “Medical team to the Control Room!” he barked.

Petersen looked at his team-mates. “We’re back to square one, it seems,” he said flatly. “Let’s go back to the lab and see if we can come up with anything else.”

The others nodded in agreement and followed him out, McKay’s anxious voice trailing after them.

“She _is_ gonna wake up, isn’t she?”

For a moment, Calvin almost felt sorry for him.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Once back in the lab, they repeated the calculations with the now dramatically changed parameters.

“You were right,” Petersen said to Calvin. “That little stunt cut the time left to the detonation almost in half. We’ve got twenty-five hours, tops.”

“And here I hoped to God that I was wrong,” Calvin replied dryly.

Petersen gave him a funny look. “I thought you were an atheist.”

“Nah, I’m agnostic,” Calvin replied, re-checking his numbers.

Petersen raised an eyebrow. “There’s a difference?”

“Guys,” Simpson interrupted, before they could really get into it, “don’t we have more important problems at the moment?”

“More important than the possible existence of God and an afterlife when we’re in death’s door?” Chloe Loewen deadpanned.

The somewhat morbid joke broke the tension. They laughed involuntarily and turned their attention to the very real problem at their hands.

“So… twenty-five hours left – if we’re _very_ lucky,” Simpson repeated, to remind them to hurry up. “Any ideas how we might prevent the inevitable… or, at least, put it off for a while? Major Carter will want to consult us within half an hour, and it would be helpful if we had to offer something. Anything.”

The others re-checked the results, trying to come up with something that might help. It wasn’t an easy task, especially since they’ve been doing it for hours upon hours.

“Well,” Calvin said after a while, more than a little uncertainly, as they were now reaching the realm of rather wild speculations, “we could encase the Gate in _trinium_ alloy. That could reduce the eventual damage by as much as forty per cent.”

“And where would you take the time for that plan?” Simpson asked.

Calvin shrugged. “If you’ve got a better idea, I’m listening.”

Simpson shook her head hopelessly.

“What if we detonated the Gate ourselves right now?” Petersen asked. “That way, we could reduce the eventual damage by as much as twenty per cent.”

“The damage to the planet’s atmosphere would still be irreversible,” Chloe reminded him. “Any survivors would be stuck on a world incapable of sustaining life as we know it.”

“So far, we’ve been unsuccessful in our attempts to come up with a solution that would save the whole planet,” Petersen countered. “If we can save at least _some_ people, theoretically they could be evacuated later by the Asgard… or any of our spacefaring allies. There would be still a slim chance for the human race to survive.”

There was a long silence – then Calvin nodded, slowly, reluctantly.

“Better than nothing,” he admitted, knowing all too well that his family wouldn’t have the chance to be among those survivors, no matter what. But that didn’t give him, the right to reject the poor solution and take that faint chance from others. “We should go to General Hammond and make the suggestion.”

“ _We_?” Petersen echoed. “I thought it was _my_ idea.”

“It is,” Calvin said. “But I’m gonna tell him about the _trinium_ alloy encasing, too. Just so that he’d have at least two choices… such as they are.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Understandably enough, General Hammond didn’t like either of the offered solutions very much. Calvin couldn’t really blame him. After all, the general had his family, including his granddaughters, in the neighbourhood, too. Getting called morons by McKay – again! – was barely more than a minor annoyance, compared with the upcoming disaster. Not that both Calvin and Petersen wouldn’t have wanted to throttle the Canadian for it. But that was another matter entirely.

That was the moment when Jonas Quinn walked into the Gate Room, drinking his tea, and began to wonder how on Earth the Air Force had managed to get the Stargate down to Sublevel 28, under the whole Cheyenne Mountain. Currently out of anything useful to do, Carter walked down to him from the Control Room and showed him how the ceiling would retract.

“Above it is a shaft that leads to the surface,” she explained, “and inside is a crane mechanism that hoistered the Gate down.”

“Interesting,” Jonas commented, and Calvin, who’d asked himself the same thing repeatedly during the last three months, agreed with him. At the same time, he was angry with himself. He was an engineer; he should have figured that out on his own.

“Could it go up, too?” Jonas asked.

Carter shrugged. “It could, but that won’t shut it off. There’s nowhere on Earth that…” she trailed off, and her eyes began to shine in excitement. Patting Jonas on the back, she ran up to the Control Room again.

Calvin could almost see a light bulb appearing over her head.

“Nowhere on Earth, eh?” he asked when she entered.

She nodded, a wide grin appearing on her face. “Exactly. All we need to do is to get it far enough from Earth.”

“Can the X-302 achieve _that_ , without having to enter hyperspace?” Calvin asked doubtfully.

“I think so,” Carter replied. “Besides, do we have a choice?”

“See, now _that_ ’s crazy,” McKay commented.

Petersen hated to agree with his arch nemesis, but facts were facts. “We have less than twenty-four hours,” he warned.

“And we ought to use those hours well,” Carter retorted. Then she turned to Siler. “Sergeant, how long would it take to get the Gate to the surface?”

“Two hours,” Siler replied, after a moment of thinking.

“It takes four to get it to Peterson and loaded onto a C-17,” Carter was thinking loudly, “And two more to fly it to Area 51.”

“Which leaves us sixteen hours to get the whole rig airborne,” Siler added.

“And none of this is gonna happen if we’re just standing around here,” Carter said.

“You truly believe this is gonna save the planet, Major?” General Hammond asked.

Carter sighed. “This is the most promising choice, sir,” she answered. “We ought to give it a try.”

The general shook his head in amazement. “You get the most outlandish ideas sometimes, you know.”

“It wasn’t all my idea, sir,” Carter replied, glancing at Jonas with appreciation, “and I daresay it’s not done yet...”

“Right,” Hammond admitted, sobering quickly.

“Also, sir,” Carter continued, “if this works, we won’t have a Stargate anymore.”

“The thought did occur to me, Major,” Hammond replied, “but we’ll still have a _planet_ , which, I think, is preferable. Keep me informed,” and with that, he walked out.

Carter sighed and looked at Petersen and Calvin. “He’s right, of course. Well, gentlemen, are you up to help me with some more calculations?”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
They used the two hours necessary for the Stargate to get to the surface to make the calculations needed for the risky maneuver. Once again, Colonel O’Neill was foreseen to fly the experimental spacecraft, and he came to the lab before leaving to get briefed.

“So, what’s there I should know?” he asked warily. “I don’t like that expression on your faces. It screams ‘disaster’ to me.”

“Well, not exactly disaster, sir,” Simpson said. “It’s rather…”

“There’s concern that the X-302 may not have the full capacity to exit the atmosphere carrying the weight of the Stargate,” Calvin interrupted. He was not one to mince his words, especially when the time was short.

O’Neill frowned. “How’s _that_ possible?”

“The engines were designed for a craft with an alien inertial dampening system that effectionally reduced its overall mass,” Carter explained.

“Yes. And?” O’Neill was still not getting the clue.

Carter shrugged. “Well, you’ll be carrying a very heavy load, sir.”

“How heavy?” O’Neill asked.

“The Gate weighs sixty-four thousand pounds, Colonel,” Petersen told him.

O’Neill was properly impressed. “That’s heavy.”

“And you’ll need to reach an altitude exceeding one hundred and eighty kilometres…”

“…at maximum escape celoci8ty before I release the Gate, or it will fall back to Earth… I know, I know,” O’Neill interrupted impatiently. “What’s the _problem_?”

Petersen looked at Calvin. “Care to answer that?”

“Based on the X-302’s fuel capacity, even a full burn won’t do it, which means the other engines will have to get you partways up, hauling something that weighs six times more than it was designed to carry,” Calvin explained.

“Besides,” Carter added, “the whole rig isn’t exactly aerodynamic, and…”

“Carter,” O’Neill said warningly, “I’m not sure I want to know any of it.”

Carter shrugged again, apologetically. “We’ll be working on the lightening of the 302, but that’s why you’ll have to go alone. Believe it or not, every pound counts.”

“Damn,” O’Neill commented philosophically, “I knew I shouldn’t have had that cake.”

Carter sighed, while the other – the _civilian_ – scientists were rolling their eyes at that typical flyboy attitude. “I wish I could go with you, sir,” she said.

“I know,” O’Neill was already on his way out,” and I find that quite bizarre. Care to help me breach the good news to the general?”

Carter hesitated for a moment, but then military discipline won over scientific curiosity, ands he jogged after him.

“All right,” Petersen said when they were gone. “Let’s see what we can do to make the X-302 lighter.

“Are you sure that’s our job to do?” Calvin asked. He had a headache and the last thing he needed was a fight about responsibilities between the respective departments.

“No,” Petersen said. “But if we leave it to Murphy and his idiotic cronies, Colonel O’Neill will never be able to take off.”

“Yeah, but will they listen to whatever we suggest?” Calvin asked doubtfully.

“Probably not,” Petersen admitted. “But at least we’ll die with a good conscience.”

“You’ve got a morbid sense of priorities, Willem,” Calvin said, and then they went to work again.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
In the following four hours they were working on the possible modifications – in theory – with Petersen having repeated shouting matches with Dr. Murphy on the phone, as the Area 51 guys were the ones supposed to make their ideas work. Several other gallons of coffee were consumed in the process, and Calvin was forced to go to the commissary to restock his blood sugar levels, as he still didn’t want to faint into one of his colleagues’ arms. If he had to die so prematurely, at lest he wanted to die in dignity.

The solution they’d come up was a risky one – for Colonel O’Neill before everyone else, but also for others – many others – in case something went wrong. Unfortunately, there were a great many things that could go wrong this time. They practically had to strip the X-302 naked, taking out weapons, most of the life support, the radar, some of the crash safety mechanisms, the landing gear… that last part had made Dr. Murphy decidedly unhappy.

“You _will_ have to take it out, in order to properly accommodate the clamping system,” Petersen argued through the phone.

“Yeah, but what happens when the colonel re-enters the atmosphere?” Dr. Murphy asked. Petersen had put him on loudspeaker, so that the others could follow the discussion.

Petersen shrugged. “He’s gonna have to eject.”

“That is, after he’s targeted to splash down off the coast of Florida,” Simpson added.

“Oh, my,” Dr. Murphy sputtered. “He’s not gonna be happy about this.”

“No-one of us is happy,” Petersen retorted, his irritation growing. “But this is the best we could come up with. Now, see to it that your minions don’t mess up anything, and then – pray!” He hung, up, swearing a blue streak in his native Danish. Calvin didn’t understand a word, but Chloe seemed amused and impressed at the same time, so it must have been good. Apparently, big, bad words sounded similar enough in Swedish and Danish; if so, both must have had quite the vocabulary in that area.

Finally, Petersen calmed down and wiped his face. “We can’t do anything for the next sixteen hours or so,” he said. “We need a break anyway. Kavanagh, go home to your kids… you might not get another chance to see them.”

Calvin, although usually a workaholic, didn’t even pretend to protest. “What about the rest of you?” he asked.

“Bill Lee’s coming in,” Petersen replied tiredly. “He’ll take over for me in twenty minutes. I’ll go to one of the guest rooms and sleep for a couple of hours. They’ve drafted McKay to help them watch the readings – I don’t feel up to the challenge to share breathing space with him right now.”

“I’ll stay here, too,” Chloe said. “Better than driving across Colorado Springs. Besides, there’s no-one to wait for me at home.”

“Guest room for me, too,” Simpson said.

That left Calvin with the problem of finding a lift. He could not call Patrick to fetch him, and he doubted that they’d lend him a military-issue car if he asked nicely. Besides, asking nicely was not something he was particularly good at. Especially after not having slept for almost three days.

Looking around on the parking lot, he spotted Sergeant Bates, the XO of one of the all-Marine SG-teams, to walk towards a jeep. That had some promise.

“Sergeant,” he called out to the man, “where are you heading?”

Bates turned back, gave him a short nod of recognition, and shrugged. “Colonel O’Neill’s asked me to bring some stuff to his place.” The dark, intelligent eyes in his impassive face showed understanding. “You need a lift, Doc?” Having been the one to help the Kavanagh clan move in, he knew they lived almost next door to O’Neill.”

“I wouldn’t mind one,” Calvin admitted. “My sister has my car, and I can’t exactly ask her to fetch me from the Mountain, can I?”

“Not likely,” Bates agreed, opening the jeep’s door. “Hop in; your place lies on my way.”

They talked on the way a little to fill the time. Mostly about basketball – Bates was a devout Lakers fan, and Calvin had played in the college team during his studies – because that was a safe topic. So… normal, like all other small concerns of daily life. Discussing the most recent game could almost make them forget that there was a good chance there wouldn’t be a next one. They both refused to think of _that_.

“I’ll have to go back to the Mountain in eight hours’ time,” Calvin said when Bates stopped the jeep before his front gate. “When are you due back? You could eat with us… or make a call to your kid brother if you want to.”

Bates shook his head. “Thanks, Doc, but I’m still on duty… besides, what am I supposed to tell the kid? I’d just make him worry with an unexpected call.”

“But you could hear his voice one last time, in case…” Calvin trailed off.

“Which is exactly why I won’t do it,” Bates said. “It would make everything so… real, you know?”

Calvin nodded his understanding. Personally, he would have made the call, but everyone dealt with emotional stress differently. Perhaps it was a Marine thing, too.

“Thanks, for the lift, Sergeant,” he said as he got out of the jeep. Bates just nodded and drove away.


	3. Episode 1- Redemption, Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I intended to finish the first part in two chapters, but they grew to long, and I didn't want to speed up the pace. So I added one more chapter. Some of the dialogue (= the technobabble) has been lifted from the actual episode, as before.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***   
**EPISODE 01 – REDEMPTION, Part 3**

The family was relieved to see him, after three days without as much as a phone call. Siobhan and Patrick had learned already _not_ to ask questions about his job, but there was no way to stop a curious seven-year-old, so Calvin told Liam a story that was as close to the truth as safely possible.

“We are working on making better aeroplanes,” he explained, “but the test flight wasn’t successful. The others called me in because I know the most about he fuel the new plane uses.”

“Has Colonel Jack flowed the plane?” Liam asked in concern.

“ _Flown_ ,” Calvin corrected. “Yes, of course he has. He’s the best pilot we have.”

“Did he get hurt?” Liam continued his inquiry, in obvious worry for his friend.

Calvin smiled. “No. Flight control had him land the plane before things could turn really bad.”

Liam sighed in relief. “That is good. Will you have to go back, Papa?”

“Afraid so,” Calvin replied. “We still haven’t figured out what went wrong with the plane, and they need me.”

“Then we won’t be going to the zoo any time, soon?” Liam asked, a little disappointed.

“Not right away, no,” Calvin admitted, feeling slightly guilty, which was absurd, considering the fact that the whole planet was on the brink of destruction. “But I’ll make up for your lost birthday trip, I promise. The first chance I get another day off, we’ll do it, all right?”

“I know you will,” Liam climbed onto his lap and clung to him for dear life. “Papa…”

“What is it, little bit?” he asked, because the child’s tone revealed already what was about to come.

“Can I sleep in your bed today?” the boy whispered, as expected.

Calvin suppressed a sigh. The first time after he’d got Liam back from his ex, the boy had adamantly refused to sleep anywhere else but in his father’s bed. The therapist had spoken of separation anxiety; that the kid feared his mother might take him away by force again. Calvin had hoped that they’d outgrown that particular phase, but apparently, his unexpected absence reawakened the boy’s fears. Liam dealt well enough with him being away for days… as long as they could talk at least on the phone and he could reassure himself that his father would, indeed, come home, sooner or later. The last three days’ ‘radio silence’ must have frightened him badly.

“Of course you can, little bit,” Calvin smiled at his son, mentally saying good-bye to any hope for a restful sleep. When scared, Liam still woke up weeping every couple of hours or so. “Should we take Tommy with us, too?”

Liam nodded mutely. Surprisingly enough, the presence of his baby brother seemed to make him feel safe. They had supper together, discussing what the boys wanted to see in the zoo – not that Tommy would have contributed anything coherent to the conversation. Affected by the Fragile-X syndrome, the kid’s vocabulary was limited to strange nicknames of things that the rest of the family had learned to recognize. Still, he was a sweet, affectionate child, in his innocence much more stable than his highly intelligent older brother.

After supper, Calvin took both kids to bed with him, and performed the usual ritual of reading them a bedtime story. They both loved those stories, although they didn’t really challenge Liam’s intellect, while Tommy most likely didn’t get much of them. But it was family time, belonging strictly to them, and they demanded it, whenever their father could get home in time.

Tommy was the first to fall asleep, halfway into the tale, sucking on his thumb, as usual when he was upset. Calvin wasn’t surprised. Tommy had always been very sensitive, attuned to his father’s moods, and no matter how much he tried to keep up a calm appearance, he couldn’t quite shake off the nagging knowledge that the world might end in a couple of hours.

Liam, on the other hand, looked like someone who could stay up all night. Perhaps he, too, was feeling his father’s inner unrest. Plus, being a junior braniac, the not knowing part got to him much stronger than it would to any other kid.

“Papa,” he asked quietly, “something is wrong, isn’t it?”

“Liam, you know I must not speak about it,” Calvin replied. But this time, the kid ignored him.

“Is it really bad?” he asked.

Calvin saw no reason to lie to him. If they died in the next day, it wouldn’t matter. Besides, he didn’t intend to tell the kid any facts.

“It can be,” he admitted. “We might get lucky yet, though. It’s up to your Colonel Jack.”

“Oh,” Liam actually seemed relieved. “That’s good. He always wins, doesn’t he?”

“Most of the time,” Calvin replied, firmly pushing away from himself the memory of all those secret missions in which the colonel _hadn’t_ won. At least the man had always come back alive. “Let’s hope he’ll get lucky one more time, shall we?”

“Is he doing something very dangerous?” Liam inquired. “Like Colonel Danning in _Wormhole X-Treme_?”

Calvin always found it ironic that his kid would be such a big fan of a cheesy TV-series that was vaguely based on his own work… well, sort of.

“He won’t be fighting aliens,” he said, suppressing the urge to add _this time_ , “but yeah, it can be dangerous.”

“Will he try to fly the new aeroplane again?” Liam asked.

“Yes,” Calvin said, because it was close enough to the truth, and once Liam was on the roll, he couldn’t be stopped anyway.

“Have you fixed what was wrong with it?” Liam continued. Calvin sighed. Now he had to lie something convincingly to shut the kid up. If he could.

“We’ve changed a few things,” he said evasively. “You know I can’t tell you more, Liam. I shouldn’t have told you a thing to begin with.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Liam promised conspiratorially. “Not even Auntie Siobhan or Unca Patrick. It would only frighten them.”

“Does it frighten _you_?” Calvin asked. Liam was such a precocious child, it was sometimes downright unsettling.

“A little,” the boy admitted. “But I think Colonel Jack will come back okay. He always comes back okay, right?”

“Let’s hope so,” Calvin said. “Well, little bit, should we try to get some sleep? I’m very tired, and I’ll have to go to work early in the morning.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
After barely six hours of unruly sleep – interrupted twice by Liam’s nightmares – Calvin felt like death warmed over when he got out of bed in the morning. They had sweated a lot during the night, all three of them, and were quite sticky as a result. He was glad that at least neither of the boys had lost control over his bladder – which sometimes still happened, even after all the progress they’d already made. They were traumatized kids, after all.

He stood under the shower twice as long as usual, trying to wash away his fear and exhaustion. He really didn’t want to go back to the SGC, because frankly, what was the point? But he couldn’t leave Willem and the others alone. It had been generous of them to send him home in the first place.

To his surprise, Colonel Dixon dropped by during breakfast and offered him a lift back to the Mountain. Apparently, the colonel had chosen to see his family, too, before the whole planet went to hell. But again, Colonel Dixon was Air Force, not a Marine, and therefore a lot less fatalistic.

“Do you have any news about the progress?” Calvin asked.

Dixon shook his had. “Not since I left for home. You know, ‘radio silence’. Not even we are allowed to call in. Do you think it’s gonna work?”

“I don’t know,” Calvin admitted. “I have a really bad feeling about this.”

“Yeah, you and me, too,” Dixon paused for a moment, driving a few miles in silence. “You know, Doc, it surprises me that you haven’t hauled your family onto a plane and sent them back to California… or somewhere even further away,” he then added.

“I was tempted,” Calvin said. “But the sad truth is, Colonel, it wouldn’t do any good. If the Gate explodes, Earth is history in any case. And a quick death is perhaps preferable to a long, agonizing suffocation. On a starving planet with not enough air, food and clean water, what would their chances be?”

“There is some truth in that,” Dixon agreed reluctantly. “I still wish I could get Glenda and the kids somewhere safe.”

“There aren’t any safe places on Earth,” Calvin sighed. “It’s frightening how small a planet could seem in the light of a disaster of this magnitude, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Dixon said, and they remained silent for the rest of their way. There wasn’t really anything else to say.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Calvin’s arrival to the lab, although he wasn’t aware of that fact at the moment, signalized the beginning of the end. All his fellow scientists were present, watching on a split screen the events in Area 51 and in the Control Room, where Carter and McKay were looking after things.

Unfortunately, things were _not_ looking good.

As far as Calvin could figure out from the frantic discussions going on simultaneously all around him, Colonel O’Neill had already managed to separate the X-302 – including the Stargate that was fastened to its belly – from the 747 carrier and reached altitude at then thousand metres. The problems started when he proceeded to an altitude of thirty kilometres, with a velocity of Mach 6, and engaged the aerospace engines. The craft began to shake badly; according to O’Neill, it felt as if it was falling apart.

“You’re still too shallow to fire the rocket boosters,” someone from Are 51 warned him.

“Switching to Area 51 surveillance cameras,” Chief Master Sergeant Harriman said in the SGC Control Room.

One of the screens now showed the X-302, with the Stargate under its belly, shooting upwards at a high rate of speed.

“Sounds promising,” Petersen commented, with tentative hope in his voice.

But Simpson, her eyes firmly on the readings, shook her head.

“Altitude is forty-two kilometres,” she said. “He needs to reach fifty before he can fire the main rocket engine, or the whole thing won’t work.”

The others exchanged worried looks.

“I’m not sure he can,” Chloe murmured. “No matter how many parts have been removed to make the X-302 lighter, the Gate is still too heavy. You can’t change the laws of physics, just because they are inconvenient.”

O’Neill’s voice cut into hers through the radio, as if confirming her concerns. “Command, I’ve got a master concern alarm here…. I’m losing power.”

“Your altitude is only forty-eight kilometres, Starflight,” someone, perhaps Dr. Murphy, replied. “You _must_ get to fifty…”

“You’re not listening – I _cannot_!” O’Neill retorted tersely. “I’ve got full port engine failure, Starboard at 6-0 per cent. Preparing to ignite rocket booster.”

“You’re still too low, Starflight!” Murphy protested.

“I’m losing velocity, Command,” O’Neill snapped. “I’m gonna start losing altitude, too, so please advise.”

There was a moment of silence, while everyone was thinking frantically to find a solution – but they couldn’t. Sometimes they’d just run out of miracles. Finally, Murphy sighed.

“Okay, Starflight,” he said. “Go with main engine burn.”

They could see on the surveillance monitor as the rocket booster went off and the X-302 sped up considerably. But it was too soon, and they all were aware of the likely consequences.

“Velocity is twenty-five thousand kilometres per hour,” Harriman reported from the Control Room. “Twenty-eight thousand…”

“He’s gotta reach forty thousand,” Calvin murmured, making quick calculations in his head.

“Yeah, and sustain it for at least fifteen seconds now, too,” Petersen added in concern. “Is his fuel gonna last?”

Calvin shook his head. “No. He fired main engines too early for that.”

“He had no other choice!” Simpson said defensively.

“I know,” Calvin replied with a tired sigh. “I’m not blaming him for anything. But facts are facts. He started with a tightly calculated amount of fuel… it’s not gonna multiply on the way.”

“Main engine burn at 1-0-0 per cent,” O’Neil reported in. “Velocity approaching forty thousand kilometres per hour. Altitude at 1-2-0 kilometres.”

In the background, they could hear Carter counting down the remaining seconds. “Seven… six… five…”

“Prepare to release the Gate, Command,” came O’Neill’s tense voice through the radio.

“It’s too early,” Simpson murmured. “Altitude is still only a hundred and thirty kilometres. He’s not gonna make it.”

“Velocity is slowing rapidly,” Chloe added. “He had to fire the rocket booster too early.”

“Anyone want to wish me luck?” O’Neill asked sarcastically.

“We’re working on the problem, Colonel,” Dr. Murphy replied from the Area 51 lab.

“Does this mean it didn’t work?” General Hammond asked.

“No, sir,” Carter replied flatly. “He’s going to fall back to Earth.”

“Based on altitude, angle of ascent and current velocity, he’s gonna hit the coast of Europe in thirty-five minutes,” Calvin added. A conference link had been established between the individual locations, so that all thoughts and ideas could be shared… assumed that anyone had them, which was not the case at the moment…

… save for McKay, of course, whose over-active mind worked best under pressure.

“If we put the X-302 in a nosedive, he could cut his decent time in half,” he said pensively.

“Why would we want to do that?” Jonas asked in mild shock.

“So he could drop the Gate in the Atlantic,” Petersen replied in McKay’s stead, getting the idea. “I think there’s time for it to sink maybe…”

“… two to three thousand feet,” Calvin supported.

“Will that do us any good?” General Hammond asked doubtfully.

“Enough to reduce the effects of the devastation,” McKay said.

“By how much?” Hammond asked.

“Not much, sir,” Carter said.

“Enough that’s worth a shot,” Calvin interrupted angrily. “Or should we just lean back and give up? _Any_ lives that can be saved are worth a try.”

“But that would mean the certain death of Colonel O’Neill,” Simpson pointed out.

“So what?” Calvin snapped rudely. “He’ll be dead within the hour anyway – we all will. At least that way his death won’t be utterly useless.”

Simpson looked ready to throttle him, but General Hammond’s voice stopped her mid-launch.

“Doctor Kavanagh is right,” the general said with a heavy sigh. “We have to do _something_.”

“Yes, but not _anything_!” Simpson countered. “Major Carter, correct me if I’m wrong, but the hyperspace window did actually form, didn’t it?”

“Yes,” Carter said. “It was just unstable.”

“But it _did_ work,” Simpson pointed out. “We just couldn’t estimate the direction it would take the 302.”

“So what?” McKay asked impatiently. “It still won’t work.”

“It would,” Carter corrected. “Only that it would most likely be a one-way trip.”

“And not for the colonel alone,” Dr. Murphy interjected. “We don’t know what would happen if we tried to open a hyperspace window within the atmosphere….”

“… but we do know what would happen if a highly charged Stargate exploded within said atmosphere, don’t we?” Petersen retorted.

“We could calculate the chances,” Chloe offered, typing on her keyboard furiously.

The others in the lab went to work, too, trying to ignore McKay’s fuming about the risks of putting an interdimensional field around an already highly charged Stargate with an unstable and completely unpredictable burst of energy and how sinking the Gate in the ocean would have real tangible benefits. Carter, also making quick calculations, retorted that this way they might save the entire planet, instead of just a few lives… for which McKay apparently couldn’t see any real chances.

“Maybe we can reduce the risk a little,” Jonas Quinn said unexpectedly.

“How?” Carter and McKay demanded in unison.

Jonas shrugged. “Well, the instability of the _naquadria_ is…”

“… is relative to the size of the burst you’re trying to extract, yes, we all know that,” Petersen interrupted.

“Yes, but you don’t have to…” Jonas tried to continue, but McKay was faster.

“… we don’t actually have to send the Gate across the galaxy,” he finished the sentence.

“Even a second in hyperspace gets us millions of miles!” Simpson supplied.

“ _Potentially_ ,” Calvin added with emphasis. “We’ll need to override the safety protocol that makes the X-302 avoid an unstable wormhole.”

“Can we do that?” Petersen asked doubtfully.

Calvin nodded. “Theoretically, yes. We can increase the chance by only activating the generator for one second.”

“But the generator isn’t programmed to work for such a short period of time!” Dr. Murphy protested.

“Hang on,” McKay replied distractedly, his voice underlined with the noise of furious typing. “I’m working on it…”

“Working on _what_?” Dr. Murphy nearly howled with frustration.

“A new subroutine,” Carter replied. “It will only take a few minutes…

“Take your time,” O’Neill’s sarcastic voice came through the external radio link. “In the meantime, I’ll just… keep falling.”

Carter and McKay worked at record speed, and unbelievable but true, they actually managed to upload the new subroutine some twenty seconds before the Gate would go critical. Now everything was in O’Neill’s hand - and they didn’t even have any visuals, which made everyone hold their breaths. Finally, when the digital clock of the computer showed thirteen seconds to critical, the radio came alive.

“This is Observer One,” said a male voice. “We have visual confirmation: the X-302 has entered the hyperspace window.”

“Is that one of the F-16 pilots?” Calvin asked Simpson who tended to know such things. Simpson nodded, the freckles practically burning in her pale face.

“What about Colonel O’Neill?” Carter asked. “Has he managed to eject the cockpit?”

“This is Observer One,” the unknown pilot answered. “There’s _no_ sign of a chute… although we have quite the light show over our heads.”

Calvin looked at the digital clock. Their time had just run out. On the other hand, they were still there, which could only mean one thing…

“Has the Gate exploded?” he asked.

“Over three million miles from Earth, according to the estimation of deep space telemetry,” Harriman replied. “He’s done it… he’s really done it.”

“Yeah, he’s done it,” Carter said, her voice proud and worried at the same time. “But has he _made_ it as well?”

For a moment there was tense silence – then another pilot reported in. “This is Observer Two. I have a visual on a chute… moving in for confirmation….” There was another period of silence, then the second pilot’s voice came again, relief tangible in his tone. “Mission Command, the cockpit is intact! We’re pinpointing splashdown position.”

“Sergeant, patch in satellite imagery,” Hammond ordered.

“Patching in satellite imagery, yes, sir,” Harriman replied crisply, and a moment later they could all see the parachute on their screens. In the background Dr. Murphy’s voice could be heard.

“Observer Two, pararescue team is on the way,” he said.

“Roger that,” the pilot replied and broke the connection.

In the lab, Calvin slumped onto his chair, trying to believe that not only had they avoided total annihilation at a hair’s breadth – again! - but he wouldn’t have to tell Liam that his beloved ‘Unca Jack’ had died in some mysterious accident he would never be allowed to explain.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
It still took hours to save all the data and to clean out the labs… including the plastic coffee cups that had served as champagne flutes on the impromptu survival feast initiated by the head scientists. All SGC members were sent home for an extended leave, as no one could tell how long it was going to be before the Stargate Program could be re-established… if ever. They didn’t _have_ a Stargate anymore, after all.

For his part, Calvin wasn’t particularly worried about his professional future. Dr. Bill Lee had assured him that their project would be continued regardless of the Stargate Program’s current hold. Newer, better, faster aeroplanes were _always_ needed. It might be that Calvin would have to spend days in Area 51 from time to time, but basically, his job would remain the same.

Without the potential trips through the Stargate, that is, but so far he hadn’t been needed for such trips and could well imagine his future life without them, too.

When he finally got home, they did make the belated visit to the zoo, and both boys seemed to have the time of their lives. Liam participated in half a dozen projects offered for children – even though most other participants were three to five years older than him – and Tommy was absolutely fascinated by the “Streichelzoo”, where he was allowed to pet the tame animals as much as he wanted.

“Perhaps we should get him a pet,” Siobhan said thoughtfully. “A puppy or a kitten… now that we have enough room both in house and garden.”

“He’s allergic to cats,” Calvin reminded her, “and Liam is afraid of dogs. Remember what happened when we visited Dr. Fraiser?”

“Yes, but Cassandra’s dog is a fully grown German Shepherd, and one that doesn’t particularly like strangers,” Siobhan pointed out. “I really think that Liam could overcome his fear if we tried to get a young puppy from a much smaller race. Perhaps you could take him with you to the pet shop and let him choose. I’m sure Tommy won’t mind, as long as it _is_ a dog.”

“Perhaps,” Calvin allowed. “I’ll discuss it with Liam first, though. I don’t want him to believe that we favour Tommy, just because of his condition.

At first Liam was less than enthusiastic about the idea of sharing his living space with a dog – _any_ dog – but when Patrick promised him to build out part of the loft and make there a room for his use only, so that he wouldn’t actually have to live in the same room with his brother’s future pet, he finally gave in. Having his own little realm was just too tempting to resist.

And so on the fourth day of Calvin’s unexpected leave, he and Liam went to the pet shop and returned with a small puppy of indefinable origins. The little dog had long ears, hanging nearly to the ground, enormous paws that seemed to belong to a much larger animal, and wavy golden brown fur. It was already housebroken, and its round, button-like eyes were twinkling merrily. Tommy was deliriously happy with it, so happy that he kept talking to the puppy in his own language that continued very interested noises but few recognizable words.

The family gathering gave the puppy the name Bester, honouring another, long-gone pet that Patrick used to have as a boy. Siobhan and Calvin bowed to his expertise concerning proper pet names as neither of them had been allowed to keep pets as children. The only animal in the Reverend’s house had been a huge watchdog that all children had been deadly afraid of. Perhaps Liam’s fear of dogs was really a consequence of his father’s reactions, Calvin mused, seeing his younger son playing with the puppy. Perhaps in time he’d learn to like Bester, too.

In any case, for the time being both boys were happy; Liam with his room in the loft – he was currently helping Patrick to paint the walls and having more fun than he’d ever showed during any physical activities – and Tommy with his young dog. That was enough for Calvin. If his boys were happy, he was happy, too. Everything else they would solve in time.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
A few days later Jonas Quinn paid the Kavanagh clan a visit. That wasn’t such an unusual thing itself, as he often dropped in unannounced – they had become casual friends during the recent months. Unusual was the huge grin practically splitting his face, though.

“Let me guess,” Calvin said dryly, handing him a beer and a bowl of pasta leftover from lunch. “You’ve got great news.”

“The best ones,” Jonas said happily. “First of all, the Stargate Program has been re-established, effective immediately. You can count on a call from the SGC any time now.”

“Doesn’t one need a Stargate for that?” Calvin asked sarcastically; then he paused as the pieces clicked into place. “Does it mean the SGC managed to get their hands on the Russian Gate?”

Jonas nodded. “Exactly. It’s being fixed right now, but Sergeant Siler said that normal operations can be expected to start as soon as next Monday.”

“Well, that’s great, of course,” for a moment, Calvin didn’t really know whether to look forward to eventually going through that Gate to some other planet or dread the very moment it might happen; then another thought occurred to him. “So, what did the Russians demand for it? Do we have to give them back Alaska?”

“Nah,” Jonas laughed. “According to Major Carter, they wanted money.”

“Who doesn’t?” Calvin shrugged philosophically. Somehow it sounded logical. He’d been told repeatedly that the Russian government wasn’t willing to finance a Stargate program of their own, which was the reason why the Russians had their own team at the SGC. From there, it was the next logical step to try and get money for the use of their Gate… especially as the SGC didn’t have one any longer.

“And the plans for the X-302 and the X-303,” Jonas added.

“Whatever they might be, they’re not idiots,” Calvin commented. “Those crafts will be of a lot more use for them, at least on short-term, than a Stargate that only swallows lots of money.”

“Oh, they didn’t give up on the Stargate entirely,” Jonas said. “In fact, they demanded to let one of their officers join SG-1.”

Calvin winced. “Ouch. That went well with Colonel O’Neill, I guess. His undying love for the Russians and everything connected to them is legendary.”

Jonas laughed. “His exact reply was, and I quote: ‘ _This is the thanks I got for saving the world again?_ ’”

“I can’t say I blame him,” Calvin said, “especially as General Hammond probably told him to shut up and suck up.”

“Well, he phrased it a bit more politely, but that about sums it up,” Jonas said, still grinning like a moron.

Calvin gave him a deeply suspicious look. “That still doesn’t explain why _you_ are in such a good mood.”

“Oh yes, it does,” Jonas retorted. “You see, Colonel O’Neill really, _really_ didn’t want to have a Russian in his unit, so he chose to put up with the lesser evil.”

“Which would be…” Calvin trailed off, already knowing what was about to come but not wanting to deny Jonas the satisfaction to spell it out himself.

“Me!” Jonas beamed. “As from today, I’m an officially assigned member of SG-1.”

Calvin slapped him on the back. “Congratulations. You should buy the Russian unit a round of drinks, though. If not for them, O’Neill would never have accepted you.”

“I know,” Jonas said, sobering quickly. “He probably still hates my guts for what’s happened to Dr. Jackson. I’ll have to live with that… and with the guilt that Daniel died because I was too much of a coward to risk my own life. I can’t change the past. But at least I’ve been given the opportunity to prove that I can make a difference.”

“You already have,” Calvin pointed out. “It was your idea that saved the whole planet.”

“Perhaps,” Jonas admitted. “But I want to prove my worth on the field, too.”

“What for?” Calvin asked. “You’re not a soldier, you’re a scientist… and a social scientist at that. Your true worth is in your brains, not in your biceps. Not that you wouldn’t be fitter than any geek I’ve ever met,” he added with a grin, because Jonas really was in a great shape. All that exercise while he hadn’t had anything useful to do paid off.

“That was the case with Dr. Jackson, too,” Jonas said. “I know I can’t truly fill his shoes, not yet, perhaps never, but I hope one day I’ll have grown enough to become a worthy ersatz.”

“They’ll never look at you the same way,” Calvin warned. “Jackson wasn’t only their scientist, he was their friend. You’re competing against five years of history… six, in O’Neill’s case… and against a legend that has become an integral part of the whole program. It won’t be easy.”

“I know,” Jonas said. “But I chose the easy way all my life, save the one time when I stood up for the truth. That was hard – but I can’t go back to my old ways. Not anymore.”

Calvin shrugged. “It’s your funeral,” he said. “I’m happy for you, though – at least you got what you’ve been pining for ever since you came to Earth. Now, if you’re quite finished eating, do you want to see Liam’s new room first or Tommy’s new dog?”

Jonas opted for Liam’s room and spent the rest of the evening with the older boy, teaching Liam how to read Egyptian hieroglyphs. Calvin retuned to his study in the cellar, opening encoded files with his latest research data, refreshing his memories about the stand of each project.

They had a Stargate again. That meant returning to the Mountain and picking up the work left behind. It could also mean a trip to another planet in the near future.

Whichever the case might be, he wanted to be prepared.

~The End – for now~

Soledad Cartwright@2008-05-24


End file.
